


Now I Know How Yondu Felt

by DrAphra



Series: Space Pirate and Kid [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Basically Peter and Yondu feels, Gen, Peter is a sassy idjit, Two Shot, Young Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 17:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11041263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrAphra/pseuds/DrAphra
Summary: Peter attends his first Ravager funeral. (companion piece to ‘Super-Callous-Fragile-Ballistic-Yondu-the-Freakin’-Badass’





	Now I Know How Yondu Felt

**Author's Note:**

> **[LK was here. And she wrote this to My Church by Maren Morris. Shout out to my sis for posting this on her account!]**

“It’s a Ravager funeral,” said Peter. 

 

\-------------- 

“You positive it’s not the Fourth of July?” Peter asked, cheeky to a fault. Yondu put his M-ship where others coming out of jump wouldn’t ram into it. 

A feisty and gangly Terran youth rode shotgun. Peter Quill watched the amazing lights and explosions in front of him and set aside teenage snark for a moment. 

The Captain had been hailed as they left Morag IV’s atmosphere. A Ravager named Ionite had died in a scuffle with the Corp defending her captain, Captain Krugarr. 

Instead of going back to the Eclector, Yondu changed the coordinates for their jump and had taken them straight to this empty patch of space already crowded with Ravager ships arriving from every point on the starmap. 

Peter crossed his arms and slouched in his seat. 

“What about my Walkman? You brought us out here and now Bertha’s place is out of the way. We were _supposed_ to pit stop at her junkshop.” 

Captain Udonta rolled his shoulders, a sign he was getting aggravated. 

“We’ll worry over your toy later, boy.” 

“It’s not a toy, it’s a device! You’re the one with toys!” 

Peter swept out a leg to indicate the numerous dolls and knick-knacks congregated on the M-ship’s dash. His goofy, oversized foot knocked a couple down in the process. 

Yondu clicked at him to watch it and readjusted his fallen souvenirs. 

“This is a funeral, Quill. You’ll scrounge up some respect and display it or I’ll let Lithjaio know he can have you as an entrée so long as Cook doesn’t skimp on the seasonin’.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. Yondu needed to come up with better lines. That was the second time he’d heard that one this week. Still, Peter sat up straight and paid attention to the funeral’s ceremony. 

“Those are the colors of Ogord. Stakar’s own colors. They’re for every Ravager who earns ‘em being better in spite of the odds.” 

“Being better at what, stealing?” 

Peter kicked himself mentally. Yondu didn’t whistle though, only frowned and weighed him with his stare. Somehow that was worse. 

“Ionite stayed behind to face over a score of soldiers with nothing but a fritzy element gun and her guts. She ignored her Captain’s order to retreat but bought time for the other crewmembers to escape. She exceeded what was demanded of her and did so with gumption and bravery.” 

Peter was silent. He soaked in the bursting pyro-technics which, far from being facetious, celebrated the bright life that had been lost. He imagined his mother’s funeral, if he’d ever gotten to go to it, would have been bleak. Rainy perhaps, and grey. Nothing like this joyous and **proud** occasion with the backdrop of a cloudy pink nebula. 

“So what you’re saying is…….captain’s orders can be ignored?” 

Yondu exhaled through his nose. He muttered a plea that ended in ‘give me strength’. 

He tapped the flame insignia on his lapel. 

“Ravager red means you live and die by our codes. Our code says if your actions go above and beyond the call of duty, _or orders – you backsassin’ idjit_ , you get honored.” 

Mercifully, Quill finally applied brakes to his sarcasm. He and Yondu viewed the remainder of the funeral in mutual reverence. 

Peter thought about what it meant to wear Ravager red and considered the flames on his own jacket. He didn’t fancy the notion of dying like any run-of-the-mill deckhand. Honest, he didn’t fancy the notion of dying at all. Peter was going to be like Han Solo. Cool, kickass, get the princess in the end and live epically ever after. 

Maybe he’d even grow his own mullet. Maybe a Mohawk. 

Yondu caught him looking at his jacket. 

“We’ll get the tailor to adjust it after we dock. I swear all you do is take a breath and grow an inch.” 

Peter pouted and tried to tug the cuffs of the coat past his wrists but to no avail. The Captain plugged in coordinates for the Eclector. 

“What about Bertha’s?” Peter whined. 

“Later. Your birthday’s comin’ around the corner. We’ll swing by there then and you can choose between jerry-riggin’ that contraption to keep singing to you about pila korumbas -”

“Piña coladas!” Peter cut in. 

“Or transfer clones of your songs to a piece of tech a bit more durable. Like a driod.” 

Peter huffed. “Droids are stupid and overrated. Just like-” 

Yondu whistled. His arrow twirled in lazy figure eights above Quill’s head but it was enough to get the brat to belt up. 

The unspoken warning lost its bite before Yondu intended it to. Soon Peter went from gulping and crouching in his seat to watching the arrow’s movements in fascination like he did when he was younger. And, just as when he was younger, Yondu obliged him by making the arrow zip around in complicated and beautiful arcs. 

The projectile’s red tail of light glinted and took on different patterns the faster he whistled for the arrow to go. The boy’s slack-jawed awe-filled gaze made Yondu chuckle. 

Peter would swallow his own socks before saying it but Yondu’s laugh felt like home. He tried squashing childish feelings that made him look towards the Captain as some kind of paternal figure. He was his kidnapper and not his father. He’d taken pleasure in reminding Peter of that more than once and anyway, what kind of Star Lord succumbed to Stockholm syndrome? 

Yondu was just some asshole who snatched him up at random as a means to do what he did best, steal shit. Peter only looked up to him because he’d get eaten otherwise. 

It definitely wasn’t because Yondu was a hardcore redneck space pirate who could make it through an entire horde of adversaries just by carrying a tune or because he had personally saved Peter’s skin once, twice – okay, a BUNCH of instances. 

Peter was an investment. An asset. Yondu needed to protect him and get him to learn to protect himself. Predictably, shooting lessons and sparring injuries hadn’t been in short supply since Peter was ten-years-old. The crew barely messed with him anymore. If Lithjaio was greenlit to make him an entrée, Quill was sure he’d chew on the endeavor before chewin’ on him. 

Peter grinned and listened to Yondu explain how to pilot the M-ship. Peter knew Yondu knew he already knew all this but the old man liked explaining it **every single time** they went out. Whatever. Yondu had indulged him with his arrow tricks so who was Peter to deny him a lecture? 

\--------------  
Brilliant streaks of color illuminated the viewport. Fireworks in the shape of a red arrow bolted across the pitch of space. Stakar’s tribute to Yondu Udonta. 

Tears traveled unchecked down Peter’s cheeks. That bastard had been a great pirate. _His dad had been an honorable man_. 


End file.
